"What would a lovely silver one cost?" he asked.

"I don't know. It does n't matter," answered she.

"But approximately? More or less?" he pursued.

"Oh, a couple of hundred lire, more or less, I daresay."

"A couple of hundred lire?" He glanced up, alerter. "Do you
happen to have that amount of money on your person?"

Beatrice (the unwary woman) hunted for her pocket--took out her
purse--computed its contents.

"Yes," she innocently answered.

The Cardinal chuckled--the satisfied chuckle of one whose
unsuspected tactics have succeeded.

"Then give me the couple of hundred lire."

He put forth his hand.

But Beatrice held back.

"What for?" she asked, suspicion waking.

"Oh, I shall have uses for it."

His outstretched hand--a slim old tapering, bony hand, in